“Two biscuits?” Emily’s voice wobbled a bit.
Louise stroked her sister’s hair. “Fine. Two biscuits, but then straight into bed.”
Louise descended to find chaos. Their butler, Mr. Hartley, sported a darkening bruise on his jaw. Two of their remaining housemaids huddled together in tears while Mrs. Fielding attempted to restore order with sharp commands and hot tea.
“My lady,” Mr. Hartley began, his dignity intact despite his injury. “I must apologize for allowing those criminals?—”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Are you badly hurt?”
“Nothing that won’t mend, my lady.”
Louise surveyed their small, loyal staff. They were all that remained of what had once been a grand household. “I need you all to listen carefully. Those men will probably return. If they do, offer no resistance. Your safety is worth more than any possession in this house.”
“But my lady,” Mrs. Fielding protested. “Surely we should notify the authorities?”
“With what proof? And also risk Mr. Bragg’s ire? No. He would destroy us.” Louise kept her voice steady, even though despair threatened to overwhelm her. “We weather this as we have everything else. Together with hope that our circumstances will improve.”
She saw the doubt in their eyes, but also the loyalty. These few had stayed when they could have sought positions elsewhere, when their wages had dwindled to almost nothing.
“For now, secure the house as best you can. And keep Emily occupied tomorrow evening. I’ll be attending to some business that may help our situation.”
Mrs. Fielding’s eyes sharpened. She alone might guess what kind ofbusinessBragg would demand, but she held her tongue.
Louise retreated to her father’s study. It was George’s study now, but he rarely used it. The ledgers told their shameful story inneat columns of red ink. Properties sold, jewels pawned, staff dismissed.
And now this revelation of money owed to a criminal.
The ledger’s columns blurred before Louise’s eyes.
Eight thousand pounds. The number mocked her from George’s careless notations, each entry a step closer to ruin. She closed the book and pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to quiet the chaos in her mind.
Tomorrow night. Bragg’s deadline loomed like an executioner’s blade.
She had no choice. No options. No savior waiting in the wings.
For Emily, she reminded herself.Everything for Emily.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten. Louise rose from her father’s desk on unsteady legs and climbed the stairs to check on her sister one last time. Emily slept peacefully, her small hand curled beneath her cheek, her breathing soft and even. Moonlight silvered her copper curls.
Louise stood in the doorway, memorizing the sight.
Tomorrow, everything would change. She would become something she never imagined. Something tarnished and compromised.
But Emily would be safe.
The following night, a black carriage appeared at precisely eleven o’clock.
Louise descended Sulton House’s front steps in her mother’s emerald gown, the finest piece remaining in her wardrobe. The silk whispered against her legs as she moved, cold air biting through the thin fabric. She had spent an hour on her appearance, pinning her hair into elaborate curls, applying the faintest touch of rouge to cheeks that kept draining of color.
Memorable, Bragg had demanded.
She felt like a lamb dressed for slaughter.
The carriage door swung open before she reached it. Bragg’s face emerged from the shadows within, his smile all teeth and satisfaction.
“Punctual. I do appreciate that in a woman.” He extended a gloved hand. “Climb in. We have business to conduct.”
Louise accepted his help, suppressing a shudder at his touch. The carriage interior smelled of cigar smoke and something sour beneath it.
